that they could continue their negotiations in the shade.
They negotiated for three whole days, and as they talked,
so too did their men. “Some stood opposite others and
some went across to others,” one Meccan remembered,
“and all we talked about and intended was peace.”
There was one person strikingly absent from that tent,
however. Aisha took no part in the negotiations, though
her agreement was surely necessary. This was the
woman who had inspired the Meccan army to march
eight hundred miles to this ɻat, humid plain, the woman
who had called on them to take revenge for Othman and
in whose name they had gathered. Did she too hope for a
peaceful resolution? Did Muhammad’s voice still sound
in her ears, warning against dissension, or had she
forgotten about the waters of Hawab?
If there was to be a battle, she would not be on the
sidelines, not this time. She would be at the very center
of the ɹghting, the rallying point for her men. Was she
so entranced by the anticipation of it that she hoped,
even against her better judgment, that the negotiations
would fail? Was she relieved or disappointed when Ali,
Talha, and Zubayr emerged from that tent at the end of
the third day and gave the signal to stand down? She
would never say.
If it was not peace the three men had agreed on, at
least it was not war. They had, in eʃect, agreed to
disagree. Each one had sworn that however this was to